Raptura
by teno-hikari
Summary: AU In search for his beloved, Fakir finds himself living in the unfinished manuscript Drosselmeyer had left behind: an alternate reality where Princess Tutu had sacraficed her own heart to seal the monster Raven.
1. Default Chapter

**Raptura**

Written By: Teno Hikari

Summary: AU - In search for his beloved, Fakir finds himself living in the unfinished manuscript Drosselmeyer had left behind: an alternate reality where Princess Tutu had sacraficed her own heart to seal the monster Raven.

**-**

**Prologue**

If there was anything Fakir hated most about being sick - besides all the homework he had to make up for later - was how his girlfriend insisted on pampering him. It started off with her visiting whenever she had the chance to inquire about his health, which he didn't mind at first. Then she took it upon herself to nurse him back to health, and insisted she come over to do the cooking and cleaning in the house. Then along the line she began to feed him and even suggested helping him in the washroom. He could have sworn his fever had shot up an extra hundred degrees.

Fakir's surrogate father, Charon, had just laughed at his dilemma and told him to "take it like a man". Right. What kind of man could sit in bed with a god-forsaken bib around his neck? To add to his annoyance was how she made ridiculous chirping noises and pretended that the spoon was a mother bird swooping in to feed her chicks. Then she thoughtlessly pointed out the whole bird regurgitation feeding process, and his appetite went right out the door. He only wished she would have gone with it.

Fakir had to admit though, his bad mood wasn't her fault - not entirely, anyway. He liked her... a lot, and deep down knew she was trying to help. But the weak and helpless feeling this cold had reduced him to, only added to the frustration. Reference material he needed to go through sat in a stack besides his bed - and got bigger every day. The rough draft for his new story would never meet the deadline at this rate.

Groaning, he sat up in bed and ran a hand through unruly black hair. God he felt awful. The disgusting medicine he had taken was finally kicking in making him feel drowsy. Damn, he didn't need anymore sleep! He needed to change, shower, finish the draft, and get out of bed. His brows knitted. Not in that order, his mind whispered in a daze.

Alas, his body for once didn't share his enthusiasm. It had been pushed to its limits, wanting nothing but food and sleep that Fakir had stubbornly denied it. Inwardly sighing, the boy gave in a little and just simply grabbed the stack of papers sitting on the stand next to the bed. At least this gave him time to read and revise what he had written down.

As he went to work, Fakir paid little attention to the clock and how the hours just ticked by while he worked. Scribbling down small notes on the margins, circling parts he needed to work on, and correcting mistakes. By the time he had gotten to the last page, the sun outside was beginning to set.

"Fakir!" he heard his girlfriend call out behind his closed door, "are you awake?"

"Yeah, come in."

Eyes not leaving the words written down on paper, the door opened and a thin girl with long salmon locks wearing a navy blue uniform, quickly scrambled inside. When the door shut abruptly, the raven-haired boy looked up in confusion. That was until he heard the beating of a drum from down the hallway.

"I thought Charon took that thing from her for causing such a ruckus at school."

She smiled sheepishly, fidgeting with her braid, as the noise got even louder. "He knows how much Uzura-chan loves it."

He shrugged and rubbed at his temple. His adopted sister had always been loud, even more so with that small drum she always carried with her. It had been his birthday present to her, out of all the toys in the shop - she had to pick the noisiest one. Over time they had learned to tune the drumming out; but on certain occasions, Fakir mentally kicked himself for not getting her a doll.

"Uzura!" he shouted at the door, "cut it out!"

The noise halted for a moment before it continued and back down the hall. He sighed again. At least he was thankful that the little girl's marching band friends weren't around to add to his irritation. Charon would certainly not approve for making six-year olds cry.

"Ne Fakir, how are you feeling?"

Large sky-blue eyes glittered with concern, causing him to blush and look away. "F-Fine. I spent most of the afternoon revising my rough draft. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it before the deadline."

She sat down beside him and reached out to place a hand on his forehead. Mother henning him again. "Just take it easy, okay? Your fever has gone down a little, but still hasn't broken."

Once more he blushed at how close she was now - her face just a couple inches from his own. Automatically he leaned forward and closed off the space between them. Letting his lips brush against her petal soft ones. She was a bit startled at first but quickly relaxed, moving closer to return the kiss.

"Idiot," he said rather affectionately after pulling away. His face was a shade of crimson now, but not from fever. "You'll catch my cold."

Shooting him an annoyed glance, the girl resisted the urge to hit him with a pillow. "You started it!"

Fakir did have to chuckle at that, and winced when his voice cracked.

"Fakir?"

"I-I'm..."

He blinked, setting the papers on his lap and tried to clear his throat. Only now did he realize how parched it felt. As if he were stranded in a desert without water.

"I'll go get you some water!"

She was off before he could stop her. He really, really hated being sick. Being helpless, having to depend on others like this. Especially her, of all people, she wasn't his nursemaid.

"Got it!" she called out, running back down the hallway with a glass of water in her hands. His eyes widened as she tripped over his rug and fell the carpeted floor. The water shot out of the glass, and splashed all over him - and on his rough draft.

"Idiot!" he rasped, staring bug-eyed at the soaked pages. Struggling out of bed, Fakir quickly got out of bed to lay them out carefully on his desk. Why, oh why did this have to happen now! On top of being sick and not being to get his story in by the due date - he now may not have a story to submit at all!

As he attempted to dry the pages from the running ink, his girlfriend stood to the side completely ignored. "I... I'm sorry, Fakir," she whispered, "I can help you work on it - I promise we'll have it finished by the due date..."

And she probably would have, knowing her - she would cut class and helped him re-write the entire chapter. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for that, or her. Not now. He didn't even look her way, glaring at the smudges that some of the paragraphs had been reduced to.

"Go away."

She winced, on the verge of tears. "I'm really sorry, please let me help. Maybe I can -"

"You've done enough, Ahiru!" he shouted over her plea, "Just go away and leave me alone!"

There was a long silence after that. Almost immediately he regretted his outburst and knew he should apologize. He turned to look over his shoulder to see that she was no longer there. Fakir was stunned; he didn't even hear her leave. The writer cursed himself and debated whether or not he should go chase after her. But in the end, he just sat down at his desk and pulled out a new pad of paper.

**-**

So... what do you think of it so far?


	2. Missing

**Raptura**

Written By: Teno Hikari

Summary: AU - In search for his beloved, Fakir finds himself living in the unfinished manuscript Drosselmeyer had left behind: an alternate reality where Princess Tutu had sacrificed her own heart to seal the monster Raven.

* * *

Chapter One - Missing 

'It's going to rain,' Fakir noted dully as he glanced up at the thick dark clouds above him. If he hadn't been in a hurry to get to school, he would have stopped to check the forecast on the radio. And if he could have had a decent night's sleep, he wouldn't be so groggy. Or forget to eat breakfast and bring an umbrella.

"Good morning, Fakir."

What the heck was supposed to be good about it?

The writer yawned loudly, before nodding towards his best friend who was standing at the crosswalk, waiting for him. Mute - who continued to go by the nickname Fakir gave him ever since they were little - always greeted him on their way to school. Scanning the area, he was relieved to see that the other boy was alone this time.

Occasionally Mute's fan club would be present. Either waiting next to him or fawning over their 'Prince' from afar. It was quite possible that the only reason Mute waited for him was so Fakir could scare them off. He was just too polite to tell the girls to leave him alone. While once glance at Fakir's glare alone would send anyone running. Especially when he was in one of those moods he was in now.

He found himself glaring at his book bag and checked again to make sure he didn't forget the story at home. For the past three days, Fakir had been glued to his desk, re-writing his ruined first draft over again. It was around two thirty in the morning when he actually did finish. Only then did he give himself a few hours of sleep before drowning himself in the shower and heading off to school.

Actually, what really ate at him was Ahiru. He really shouldn't have yelled at her the way he did. It was an accident after all. So that was the important thing he had to do today - after shoving the story under his editor's nose - was find her and apologize. Maybe take her to that cafe besides the lake after school. Yeah, Ahiru would love that. Already he pictured her face brightening, those thin arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Fakir couldn't help but smile, already his foul mood began to disperse.

"So you're feeling better?" Mute's voice quickly brought him back to the present. Quickly he cleared his throat and got rid of the smile. He glanced over to his friend who was eyeing him oddly. Smiling out of the blue was highly abnormal for him.

"Yeah, my cold is gone, but Charon still wanted me to take it easy. Barely got any rest since I had to re-write and finish the rought draft."

"What happened?" Mute asked, watching him yawn again, "I thought all you had to do was finish it?"

The taller boy sighed as they crossed the street and continued on their normal route to school. Another block down was where his girlfriend would unusually met up with them. Unless she was in as much of a foul mood as well and chose to avoid him.

"Ahiru," Fakir explained hesitantly, "spilled water on it."

Mute winced a little and could visibly picture Fakir's explosive reaction. "I see. I'm sure it was an accident."

"It was."

Of course it was an accident. His Ahiru may be a kind and caring individual, but she was also a walking disaster waiting to happen. Well not always. More like seventy-five percent of the time. Like during her ballet lessons, when he watched and helped her practice. But then again she had a severely short attention span.

"Do you plan on apologizing?"

"If I have to," Fakir sighed, "Have you ever had a relationship where your girlfriend wouldn't speak to you?"

The Prince glanced at him for a moment before shaking his head. "No. But then again, I never loved any of the girls I dated."

He stopped and stared, surprised by his friend's honesty. Even though they were close friends over the years, neither of them mentioned 'love'. Not once had he ever told Mute - or anyone for that matter, his true feelings.

"Mute?"

"You're very lucky to have someone you love, Fakir," Mute continued to the other boy was standing still behind him. "Be careful, you should know that..."

/ The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost. /

Fakir, frozen in place, continued to stare at the other teenager until he was out of sight. Did Mute really say that? Why did those last words suddenly shake him to the core? Why did it seem to be more like a warning than just sound advice?

"What's gotten into him?" he muttered to himself.

Shaking his head, banishing that sickening feeling inside of him - the boy turned his head to spot on the corner where Ahiru would normally be waiting for them. Always doing something out of the ordinary, like trying to balance a stack of books on her head. Or the many times she had been surrounded by practically all the birds in the area for dropping a piece of toast. But much to his surprise, she wasn't there. That was odd.

Checking his watch, he confirmed that he was indeed running late and it was possible that Ahiru went ahead of the boys this time. Which was likely, if she planning to avoid it. He looked at the time again and groaned, knowing he couldn't go over to her house and find out for himself. Fakir would just have to wait and catch up with her at school.

Time flew by like a snail with a pair of wings. Each minute felt like an hour, prolonging his suffering as he sat through his classes and forced himself to socialize. Even though he was commended on his story, praise and approval no longer mattered at the moment. All he could do was gaze at the grandfather clock and held back the urge to seek out Ahiru and apologize. He just wanted this mess over and done with.

Of course this wasn't their first fight. Even before they officially became a couple, they always argued. In fact, an argument broke out between them the first time they had met at the lake many years ago. So they fought (like a married couple Charon would add); but no matter what, there was always reconciliation. They simply apologized, no longer caring who was to blame, and moved on.

'So why was this so different?' Fakir wondered to himself as he hurried out of his class as the lunch bell rang. He scanned the crowds of students who were in the cafeteria, and frowned. He did not see her sitting between her two best friends, not spot her waiting in the lunch line. Since the color of Ahiru's hair - and the style she wear it in were pretty unique, he should have been able to spot her. She wasn't there.

Frowning, he turned away to look elsewhere. Like the dance studio, where she would most likely be practicing her techniques. Probably doing clean-up for disrupting class, not following directions, and/or simply being a klutz.

"Whatever you do," he advised himself before opening the doors, "don't laugh."

He doubted she would be able to take his apology seriously if he were to laugh at her now. Pushing open the door, he could hear Tchaikosky's "Swan Lake" playing from the stereo speakers. Odd, he thought to himself, Ahiru liked to dance to "Waltz of the flowers" whenever she practiced.

Stepping inside, his frown widened in disappointment. Instead of seeing the familiar ungraceful sight his girlfriend normally portrayed when she danced, was Rue and all her perfection. Being in the advanced ballet class and elegantly beautiful, Fakir could see why Ahiru and the other female dancers aspired to be like her.

"Did you need something, Fakir-san?"

He blinked and stared back at the brunette who had realized she had an audience and went to approach him. The writer slowly shook his head and let his eyes dart around the empty room, no klutz in sight. If Ahiru wasn't here, where else could she be?

"I apologize for disturbing your practice. I was looking for Ahiru," Fakir explained before turning away, "Must have missed her again..."

"Ahiru-san isn't here today."

That made him stop in his tracks and turned around to face the dancer again. Ahiru wasn't in class? She may have been tardy on a regular basis, but the girl had perfect attendance.

"Now that I think of it," Rue continued, "She was absent for the last thee days."

Fakir couldn't believe his ears. Ahiru was absent for not one - but three - days! Was she all right? Did she catch his cold? Why hadn't he known about it? Why didn't anybody tell him? What kind of boyfriend was he!

"A-Are you sure?"

Rue's garnet eyes narrowed a moment in thought before she nodded in affirmation. "I usually see Ahiru-san at warm-ups and before the advance class begins. She also stays to watch sometimes..." She took in his pale face with a little concern, "Is everything all right?"

How was he supposed to answer that? Sure everything's fine! All he happened to be was a colossal jerk for a boyfriend. Ahiru was the one who took the time and tried to nurse him back to health. How did he reward her for it? By yelling and ordering her to go away, and then shutting himself in his room to work on a story that no longer mattered. Ahiru was probably home right now, sick in bed while he was wandering around like an idiot.

"I have to go," Fakir suddenly announced, totally ignoring the question. Rue just looked confused as she watched him leave before continuing the dance practice. Neither writer nor dancer had noticed a pair of glowing eyes watching them.

* * *

Fakir was never the one to ditch school. He wasn't a slacker. He was known for being able to keep perfect attendance (well until recently when he caught a cold) and get good marks. Today he made an exception and had plenty of reasons...though none of them would be good enough for his instructors. But he was certain his step-father would understand. 

He breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath, as he stood at the doorstep. Since he had been in a hurry and neglected to bring an umbrella, the rain had soaked through his hair and clothes, and already he could hear Charon scolding him. He felt like a bigger idiot than before. What kind of moron recovers from a cold only to go back out and catch another one?

The door creaked open and from the other side, Ahiru's aunt regarded him from the other side. "Fakir?"

"S-sorry if I'm disturbing anything, Edel," he managed to say through chattering teeth. The tall and pale woman merely shook her head before ushering him inside. She left him for a second before returning with a couple of towels in her hands.

"You'll get sick if you run around in this weather."

"Been there, done that."

Fakir let out a half-hearted chuckle before sobering. Toweling his hair dry, he avoided Edel's gaze. "I... um... I came to see Ahiru."

Only a torturous silence answered him, that and the pitter patter of the rain against the windows. A storm was brewing, the writer could feel it. The downpour had been expected; but thunder always took him by surprise. It was the kind that strikes without warning. That rattles one's insides and leaves them shaken to the core.

His dark eyes left the wet trails running alongside the glass and back to the woman who had turned her back to him. Ahiru's guardian was absently stroking the face of an old grandfather clock, murmuring to herself how it had stopped working. Why wouldn't she respond to him? Fakir's head was aching and his heart felt heavy. He could see the older woman's face from the polished reflection, and her expression was one of sorrow. It ravaged his senses, leaving him shivering in this otherwise comfortable room.

"Edel," he spoke softly over the rain, "Is she all right?"

Fear had seized his heart in a vice grip as she continued to stare at the age old clock. He quickly turned his head and much to his growing anxiety, could not see Ahiru's belongings that normally lay scattered about. Like her shoes that would be left at the door. They were missing. But Fakir had been told she hadn't been to school in three days, where else could she be?

Then he realized that the picture frames on the fireplace mantle were also missing. Photos Edel had taken of her lively niece from different ballet practices, photos of her and Ahiru, and even the rare pictures of her and Fakir together. They were all gone.

Were they even there to begin with? Fakir mentally cursed himself for such a thought. Of course they were. Edel, being a clean and tidy as she normally was, must have put them away for some reason.

He couldn't wait a second longer, and turn running up the stairs of the old house. As a boy, Fakir had been raised with ideal that entering another girl's room was impolite. But he could care less right now as he tear down the hallway and towards the corner room he knew belonged to his girlfriend.

On several occasions he had stood outside (or perched up on a tree branch when they were younger), staring up at her window. Whether he was shouting for her to hurry up, or simply passing by. The window was normally cracked open, exposing the light egg-shell yellow curtains that matched the color of a small four-poster bed.

Fakir blushed, standing right outside her bedroom door with his hand raised. Swallowing nervously, he started to knock and call out her name. Hoping to hear the sound of his girlfriend clumsily stagger around, and felt his heart constrict with every second it didn't occur. Gently he turned the knob and opened the door...

Only to find nothing. Absolutly nothing. No Ahiru. And no bedroom for that matter, in fact there was no sign that no one was using it at all. It was just an empty room with a closed window. The dark-haired youth retreated a few steps, completely in shock. Had he got the wrong room? Of course, that had to be it! Not caring how rude he was being to his host, Fakir checked the other rooms of the house. Still no Ahiru.

Growling in frustration, he stomped down the stairs and found Edel in the same exact place she had been standing in. If Ahiru's aunt was offended by her invasion of privacy, she certainly didn't show it. In fact, the woman seemed unresponsive the entire time he had been running about.

"Where is she?"

He prepared himself for the worst. If Ahiru was sick or somehow injured, he was going to help nurse her back to health like she had with him. If his girlfriend was moving away, he would find someway to be close to her. He owed that to her and much more. Though nothing could prepare himself for Edel's response:

"Ahiru is gone."

His heart was like the large clock Edel was facing, it had simply stopped ticking. "Gone?" he rasped, "Gone where!"

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Thunder boomed out of nowhere and a flash of lightening from the window beside them blinded Fakir. The loud noise drowned most of Edel's words, but somehow he was able to makeout some of them. He squinted a little and noticed how deathly pale she looked now... and no longer human. It was stark white now like the porcelain face of a doll.

"As an author, you shouldn't take your words lightly," Edel spoke in a soft monotone despite the harsh screech of the wind outside, "for they are what moves a story and most important, gives it life."

Another flash of lighting and she was gone. Simply gone. Edel had actually managed to vanish into thin air. Leaving him alone in an empty house, save for the non-working grandfather clock he was now facing. Was this a dream or was he still drugged? Fakir could have sworn the medication he had taken for the cold had worn off before he left the house.

What the devil was going on!

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

His eyes shot up to the face of the clock and stared in confusion. It was working again. Maybe the only broken thing in the room was his sanity.

* * *

He returned to Ahiru's house the following day, and the following days after that. There was no trace that anyone had lived there save for the working Grandfather clock left behind. Fakir also cut his classes a little early, hoping to see Ahiru in her own. But she never showed up for any of them, not even for the ballet one. 

Where was Ahiru? Fakir even started to socialize with her friends who just gave him useless answers and odd looks whenever he asked. He was very close to filing a missing person report... but what could he say? That one moment Edel had been talking to him and then was gone in a flash? No one would believe him, Fakir himself was at a loss at what to think or feel.

The world seemed oblivious to the fact that Ahiru was missing. Everyone who knew her, simply continued to go on with their day to day life without a care. Everyone, of course, but him.

As the weeks went slowly by, Fakir was unable to concentrate on anything. A massive writer's block had also formed and he would more than often stare at a blank piece of paper of hours. Charon believed it was stress, and advised Fakir to stay home from school and rest. But even sleep was a hassle as he dreamed of her and the a swinging pendulum that separated them. She never spoke to him in those dreams, just simply smiled with those large cornflower blue eyes of hers. It was an expression of hope, making his heart constrict every moment he saw it. She was waiting for him to do something, but Fakir hadn't the slightest idea of whatever it was.

'Two months.'

'Eight weeks.'

'Fifty-six days.'

'Over a thousand hours...'

Fakir stared at the words he had simply written down out of boredom. Had it really been that long? Sometimes on nights like these, when he stayed up until the sun rose above the horizon, Fakir wondered if Ahiru was real. He hated thinking like that, but the question continued to plague his mind each time he attempted to put his pen on paper.

'Is any of this real?'

He felt like a fictional character in his own story, helpless and unable to control the flow time and upcoming events. Something had happened and had erased Ahiru from his life. Everything except for those haunting dreams he had of her waiting for him and smiling serenely.

'Waiting for me to do what?' he wondered, stabbing at the piece of paper with his pen. As ink began to form and bleed over his last written down word, Fakir raised his head to ceiling. 'Where are you?'

No one answered, it was crazy, but he was actually hoping someone would.

* * *

"Why do you keep coming back here?" 

He didn't even turn to acknowledge his friend who had followed him inside the old house. Instead, Fakir continued staring at the Grandfather Clock's pendulum as if hypnotized by it. Even when amber-eyed boy waved his hand in front of the other's face.

"Fakir?"

The writer let out a half-hearted chuckle before sobering. He had heard Mute's question and found it humorous. Why did he keep coming back to this old house? Why did he feel the need to 'break and enter' just to stare at an old antique clock for hours on end for the past several months?

"Like everyone else, I'm only now starting to forget."

Mute drew his hand back with a puzzled look on his face. "Forget? Forget what?"

"That something important is missing from my life."

"Fakir...?"

He didn't respond this time, already feeling he has said too much. Mute, like Charon, Uzura, and the others at school have forgotten. No longer did they remember the girl who clung to his arm and had the aspiring dream to become a ballet dancer. Fakir didn't want to believe it, but the world had forgotten Ahiru and went on as if she never existed. All he had when she left were the dreams and memories. But even those were starting to fade away.

That's why he was here. Being in the presence of the clock somehow gave him the chance to go over every memory he had with Ahiru and examine them closely. He wouldn't give up, not as long as he remembered and could write down those experiences. Like every other time they've gone to have a picnic at the lake. Or swimming. Or just go for a walk together.

"Charon sent me," Mute spoke again after the immeasurably long silence, "Both he and Uzura are very worried, and want you to come home."

'I can't leave. If I do... I'll be walking away from her. From us.'

"J-Just give me a minute," Fakir responded hesitantly. He manages to tear his gaze away and gave his best friend a shaky smile. Satisfied with that, the other boy left to go wait outside, leaving him alone once again with his thoughts.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound irritated him to no end, but he remained standing there and tried to collect his thoughts. But as he watched the rapid movements of the second hand, Fakir's mind was a total blank. This was foolish. What on earth was he doing here? It's not like she's going to jump out of the damn clock.

With his minute about up, Fakir turned to leave and was almost to the door when the hour chimed.

Fakir!

Whirling around on his heel, he began to look around wildly for the source of the voice. There was no doubt about it. He knew her voice anywhere and she had called out to him.

"Ahiru!" he called out hoarsely over the loud rings, "Where are you?"

He could still hear her calling out to him, but they were softer now and... It was coming from clock itself! Throwing common sense to the side, he ran to it, uncaring of the blisters that stuck his hands when he breaks down the trunk. Pieces of mahogany wood biting into his palms and drawing blood.

It had gotten quiet again; there was not even the sound of ticking or of his heaving breaths. Looking down at his now scratched calloused hands, the boy barely registered an old dusty book that he was now holding. What in the world was this doing inside an old Grandfather clock?

Breathing normally now, he wiped away some of the thick dust off the cover so he could read what was on it. Written in gold print he was able to make out the words:

"Drosselmeyer"

It rang an alarm in the dead of the night,

An alarm that for years had been dumb.

And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight,

That his hour of departure had come.

Still the clock kept the time,

With a soft and muffled chime,

As we silently stood by his side.

But it stopped, short, never to go again,

When the old man died.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Ending poem are lyrics for "Grandfather's Clock" by Henry Work

I apologize for my lateness and of course the buffet of grammar error - again, dying for a beta-reader. Please review and let me know what you think of the story so far.


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